Page 7 of Echo in the Wind

“Oh, and there is also Henry Bankes, the MP for Corfe and a great friend of Pitt’s. He would have you to wife in a minute, were you willing. Just think; you could live in that great mansion he is remodeling. Why, ’tis larger than The Harrows.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” She shook her head. “The Harrows is more than adequate for me. Besides, I consider marriage a dull affair punctuated by moments of misery. I would avoid it, perhaps forever.”

Richard gave her an astonished look. “How can you put the epithet ‘dull’ to a state so many seek?”

“The men you list come to mind, Dear Brother. Besides being dull, marriage in the ton is often arranged and, therefore, poses great risk. I have observed the sad state of many women who marry. Few are happy. Many men do not take seriously their vows. Dare I mention Lady Worsley, forced to become a courtesan to survive because her husband, who does not want her, cut her off and will not grant her a divorce? Or my friend, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire? A beautiful woman with an indomitable spirit and a quick mind, yet you told me yourself the duke spends his nights at Brook’s playing cards. And those are the nights he is not with his mistress. And then there is—”

Richard held up his hand, stopping her diatribe, a pity as she had only begun. The list of poor marriages in the ton was a long one.

“I’ll not defend the nobility who carry on as if their vows mean little, Joanna, but best not to mention the duchess this evening. Her unwavering support for Fox in the election did not endear her to the Prime Minister.”

“I would never do so, Richard, but back to my point, as you are still unwed at seven and twenty, you can hardly wag your finger at me.”

“I’ll not be a bachelor for long. Now that I have the title, I must wed. I do not seek a love match, but the Earl of Torrington must have an heir.”

She let out a sigh. “How romantic.” Then with greater enthusiasm, she leaned toward him and smiled conspiratorially. “I shall keep an eye out for a prospective broodmare with good teeth.”

His brows drew together. “I can find my own wife!”

She had hoped to amuse, but it was clear she had only irritated him. “Very well,” she quipped. “But, in the meantime, you need me at The Harrows.” Joanna did not mention that the villagers of Chichester counted upon her, but it was the truth. Seeing to their welfare gave her life more purpose than did all the parties and balls.

Richard let out an exasperated sigh and set his jaw.

Joanna’s protests were having no effect. He had become an immovable force. It was so like Richard. Their older brother William, despite his being the heir, had always been “Wills” to the family. Then there were Tillie and Freddie. And she was Jo. Not even their parents had called them by their full Christian names, except for Richard. He had always been “Richard”, seemingly too proper to have garnered a nickname. And now he was Torrington. The title fit him like a glove, formal and without the possibility of a sobriquet.

Sensing his growing impatience, she decided to be agreeable. “If it pleases you, Brother, I shall consider marrying when you do.”

He opened his mouth to say something when their butler Carter stepped into the room.

“My Lord, the first guests have arrived.”

Joanna had met William Pitt before on one of her trips to London, but she had not observed him with his two closest friends, who were also of an age with her. A head taller than William Wilberforce and Edward Eliot, Pitt made a commanding figure in his black frock coat and ivory waistcoat.

Neither Pitt nor Eliot wore wigs, though both had powdered their brown hair. Wilberforce’s dark unpowdered hair curled over his forehead and around his ears, the length of it carelessly tied back with a ribbon.

She and Richard greeted the three men and a footman offered them a brandy. Pleasantries exchanged, Pitt and his friends began to recount their travels in France the previous autumn. Eager to hear of their trip to the Continent, Joanna drew close.

Pitt launched in. “We first went to Reims. Only because the letter of introduction we managed to acquire at the last minute named a Monsieur Coustier there. Unbeknownst to us, the man is a grocer who lives behind his shop.”

Eliot laughed. “We did well enough until the Lieutenant of the Police discovered our whereabouts and, because of our humble lodgings, thought us English spies in hiding.”

Joanna was envious of their trip. Although she spoke French as well as any lady, she had not been to France or anywhere outside of England. Only young men of the aristocracy and wealthy gentry made the Grand Tour of the Continent. Not that a single trip to France was a Grand Tour, she consoled herself, but at least it was some foreign travel.

“Once the lieutenant learned Pitt’s father was the Earl of Chatham,” chimed in Wilberforce, “we were invited to dine at the palace of the archbishop where we enjoyed a good meal and were finally able to practice our French, which had been one of our goals.”

“The abbé, only forty, was most gracious,” offered Pitt. “To my delight, I learned the leaders of the French church are not so somber as our clergy. For one thing, they share my love of golf.”

Wilberforce rolled his eyes toward Eliot. “We next went to Paris where it seemed the English were in possession of the town. Pitt promptly deserted us to go off stag hunting while Eliot and I took a carriage to Fontainebleau.” He smiled at Joanna. “We had a desire to see the French king, who was there at the time.”

She well understood. The French Court, about which she had heard much, was more a draw for her than hunting stags in the woods.

“We also had the chance to meet General Lafayette,” put in Eliot, “the French aristocrat and celebrated general for the Americans.”

“’Tis obvious why,” Richard said. “He did them much good. But what was your impression of King Louis?”

Wilberforce exchanged a knowing look with his two companions. They must have heard his thoughts on the French monarch before. “When I first met him, I thought him a clumsy figure in immense boots. But I quite liked the queen. Marie Antoinette welcomed us heartily. As for the French Court, the opulence is overwhelming.”

The Prime Minister nodded his agreement. “When I finally got to Fontainebleau, I, too, was taken with the magnificence of the place. You cannot imagine—”